


Christmas Shenanigans

by agoodtuckering



Series: The Romance of Windsor Gardens [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Paddington (Movies), Paddington Bear - Michael Bond
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: After their first date together, Clara invites Ronald over for Christmas dinner. There are a few surprises along the way.
Relationships: Mr. Curry (Paddington)/Clara Oswin Oswald
Series: The Romance of Windsor Gardens [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570750
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	Christmas Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in love with this series. So light and fluffy. I write so much angst, and it's just nice to write something lighter for once. I've been writing Ronald on twitter for years, for RP. I was locked out of @agrumpynumpty (because twitter sucks sometimes), but now I'm @nosynumpty if you'd like to follow me. I've been writing Clara x Ronald for years. I just wanted to get this cuteness down on paper (so to speak) and share it with you guys. I love them.

The night of their _date_ came soon enough. It was two weeks before Christmas and there was a light blanket of snow on the ground, ridiculously romantic in appearance and entirely too pretty to be in London. It was _perfect._

“Look at the snow all around,” Clara said softly, in awe, as she wrapped her neck in a warm and fuzzy scarf. “It just looks so fluffy and light. Rather cold, though.”

They had decided the walk wasn’t too bad. It was just across the road and a few buildings down. Not too bad at all. Besides, he would never say no to a nice walk _with her._

“Miserable, isn’t it?” he asked, chuckling softly. Then, after receiving a _look_ from her, he conceded, “But it’s pretty to look at.” 

She linked her arm with his as they walked together, murmuring, “Maybe it’s just the poet in me but I find that it’s rather romantic. I love this time of year. I love Christmas.” 

He shrugged a shoulder, although he did his best not to appear to be _too much_ of a humbug. “I suppose,” he said, offering her a wee smile. “Feels the same as any other day now, for me. I used to take care of my mam. That’s why I have her flat now. It was her home. Jesus, I haven’t even redecorated. Everything was a bit crazy there for a little while. I was taking care of her. But Christmas was always… _interesting._ She was a miserable old hen every other day of the year, but not on Christmas. Now that she’s gone, I don’t really do anything for the holidays anymore. She passed away three years ago."

As they crossed the street, making their way to the other side, Clara asked, “Are you serious? You don’t do _anything_ for the holidays? Nothing at all? I know your mum’s gone now and all, but… you’ve no other family to spend it with?” 

He felt a bit hopeless just then. Trying not to sound like it, he replied, “No, just my mam. It’s alright, though. I just watch a bit of telly, some of the old Christmas films, and have dinner by myself. Trust me, it’s really _not_ as depressing as it probably sounds. I like a good, quiet, peaceful Christmas. Nothing wrong with that.” 

Clara shook her head to herself. “You’re ridiculous,” she told him. “I’m not letting you spend Christmas all on your own, you daft man.”

That was all that she said about it, though. Soon enough, they were stepping into the warmth of the restaurant and there was a short, round Italian man greeting them at the door. “Ronald,” he said happily, reaching out to clasp his arm. “Nice to see you again. It’s been a while. Who’s the beautiful young woman on your arm?” 

Clara practically beamed as she shook the snow from her hair and coat. “Hello,” she replied. “My name’s Clara. Nice to meet you.” The radiant smile she sent Ronald’s way nearly had his heart beating double-time. 

They were shown to a quiet table in the back, by a window where they could watch the falling snow come down. There was a candle between them and a few menus placed on the table. She was reading over the wine list and he was, perhaps subtly, admiring her. 

He’d decided to forego the hideous jumper tonight and opted, instead, to wear a nice purple button down and dark denim trousers. She rather thought, despite how old he _said_ he was, that he looked years younger with a smile on his face. He was only in his fifties. She saw past what everyone else saw. That perpetual frown, the grumpy look… It was all just a show. In reality, he was just a lonely man. But he was _also_ kind, considerate, interesting, loved to read and garden, and held a certain affinity to keeping all of his herbs alive and well tended to. He was more than just a grumpy old man. 

_Far more._

He wasn’t even old, for that matter. He was also the man who had helped her to fix appliances in her home at the drop of a hat, the man who patiently dealt with her as she tried to learn how to properly plant seeds and let them grow, who did plumbing work her, and who let her sit in his living room and do her marking on particularly cold evenings because her heating was on the fritz at the moment. 

And by the time they ate, she learned that he also knew a great deal about pairing wines with meals and that he loved to cook at home, but no longer had anyone to do so for anymore. He had held a certain fondness for Italian cuisine over the years.

They shared pizza and red wine and chatted about anything and _everything._

By the time they night drew to an end, she was tipsy and clinging to his arm as they wandered back in the direction of home. He’d had more wine than he usually ever did as well and was practically _giggling_ at the way she badly sang Christmas carols as they walked. 

“Why did he ever leave you?” Ronald suddenly asked, astounded at the notion.

Clara’s eyebrows rose curiously. “Danny, you mean?” 

He nodded and sighed. “You’re wonderful. You’re funny and silly and fascinating. I'm never bored with you. You're sweet and kind. And not to mention beautiful. How could he ever have let you go? If you ask me, he’s a bit of an idiot.” 

For a moment, Clara just glanced up at him as they walked side by side. “Maybe he was,” she said softly. “Make no mistake, please, I’m not perfect. Far from it. And he’s not a bad man. He’s a good man, actually. A very good man. But we weren’t _good_ for each other, only because we wanted different things in life, you know? It happens. I think I’m honestly over it by now.” 

They stopped at her doorstep and he let her lean against him as she fished her keys out of her coat pocket. “Thanks,” she replied with a wee laugh. 

"You're pished," he said with a laugh. She thumped his arm, exclaiming, "Ronald, _language._ And yes, maybe I am." They both dissolved into tipsy giggles thereafter.

They lingered there for a moment after she unlocked her door. Then she turned back to him, a perplexed look on his face. “Really,” she said softly, “I meant that thanks. Thank you for _everything._ You’ve been nothing but kind to me since I moved into this little neighborhood. I don’t see what everyone else sees. I just see… _you._ You’re sweet, Ronald. I wish everyone else saw this side of you as well. They’re really missing out. I'm a lucky woman.” 

He stood there with a stupidly shocked face for a moment before finally relaxing and allowing himself a wee grin. “Thank you, Clara,” he replied. “Goodnight. Thank you for making my night tonight. I had a great time.”

Driven by an impulse that she couldn’t quite place or explain, and yes, perhaps it was a bit too soon because she’d only just broken things off with Danny a few months prior, she asked, “Do I get a goodnight kiss?” Her heart began to pitter-patter in her chest.

She wanted to let out a soft, drunken giggle at the look on his face. He was a rabbit caught in the headlights for a moment. “I… Okay,” he said nervously, tender green eyes searching her face for a moment. Even two steps below her, on the sidewalk, he was able to reach her. _Bloody height differences,_ she thought. 

His warm lips found her cheek for a sweet kiss. Too soon, though, it was over. 

Perhaps it was partly because of the wine, but she couldn’t blame it entirely on the booze. She’d _wanted_ this for a while, and wondered what it would be like. Silly as it may seem, he was apparently just the thing to heal her heart. His gentle nature, his silly quirky ways, his frankly ridiculous sense of dress. Everything about him made him so perfectly wonderful. 

As he began to draw away, she reached out to stop him. Her hand found his cheek, clean-shaven and smooth, just for her. She stroked his warm skin with a thumb before reaching down to him. 

“Clara, what are you…?”

He never had the chance to finish the question. Her lips brushed his, tentatively and delicately. 

For a brief moment, he was _sure_ that he was having a heart attack. Then it all felt _perfect_ and he began to kiss her back, his brain finally begin to work again. Everything, for that one moment, had ceased to function for him. 

She sighed into the kiss, relieved and elated that he hadn’t pulled away with fright. 

Finally, they both drew away. Both of her hands were on his face now. However that happened she wasn’t sure. He was looking up at her with eyes full of wonder and awe and, she suspected, love. It was as vulnerable as she’d seen him yet. 

“I realize that I shouldn’t have done that,” she began to say, along with a nervous giggle, “but I really wanted to. Thank you for tonight, Ronald. I think I just… needed to go out to dinner with someone and enjoy myself again. Thank you for asking _me.”_

The poor love. He was just standing there with a stunned expression. His eyebrows were furrowed. Tenderly, she let an index finger smooth over each of them to relax his face. Then she said something equally as surprising, but also comforting. 

“I won’t hurt you like Millicent did, and that’s a promise.” 

He’d told her earlier that night. Out of curiosity, she’d finally asked and he’d told her. 

All he could manage for a moment was a wee smile. “Thank you, Clara. I hope you sleep well tonight. I’m sure I will.” 

And with that, they said goodnight and parted ways. 

True to her word, she refused to leave him alone on Christmas. She invited him over to her house, where she was making dinner for her nan, her father, and her god awful step-mother, _Linda._

When he knocked at the door at half past four in the afternoon, she was shocked to find him standing there with a tray of cookies from the bakery down the street. He also had a small wrapped box, just for her. It even had a bow on top. 

Letting him inside, she closed the door behind him gently. "I thought I told you not to bring anything? Thank you, though, Ronald. So… Everyone's in the living room," she told him with a lopsided grin. Then she drew him down the hall, walking backwards. 

“Do you know what that is?” she asked, pointing above her in the hallway. He looked up and noticed a tiny sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. Sneaky little woman that she was. 

He quietly replied, “Mistletoe?” 

She nodded her head and reached out for the lapels of his jacket, smoothing a hand over his cozy scarf and smiling up at him. “Well? You know what to do.”

It was absolutely astounding that she had not only wanted to kiss him _once,_ but that she wanted to have _another_ kiss with him. 

He happily (albeit nervously) obliged. Leaning down to her, he let his fingers snag her chin just before their lips met. And oh, had it really been _two weeks_ since they had last kissed? That was far too long ago. They had both missed one another.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she reached up for him. She expected it to be awkward, but it was anything but. It was sweet and tender and wonderfully Christmassy. He smelled like everything wonderful. Spicy aftershave, light cologne, coffee. He just smelled _so good,_ and she was a complete sucker for it.

As he drew back, he murmured, "Merry Christmas, love."

She patted his chest, a wee bit winded now. "Mm. Happy Christmas to you too. C'mon, take your coat off. I'd like to introduce you to my family."

A few minutes later, after checking on the turkey in the oven, they slipped into the living room together. Everything was impeccably decorated for the holiday, from the small fireplace with its stockings to the walls with garland and colored fairy lights. 

"Everyone, this is Ronald. He lives next door. I invited him over. He's wonderful and please be nice to him," Clara announced. Much to his surprise, of course. His cheeks went pink. 

_What would everything think of him coming over for Christmas?_

Clara's nan, _Ellen,_ reached out a hand for his and clasped it. "Hello," she said happily. She was always so sweet, always the happiest and most optimistic one in the room. "You're rather cute, aren't you? It's nice to meet you, young man."

It had been _a long time_ since someone had referred to him as a young man, or called him rather cute, and he let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. "Thank you," he replied. "It's very nice to meet you too. I’ve heard a lot about you from Clara. All good things.” 

He even managed a soft, lopsided smile.

"Not very _young,"_ Linda muttered rudely, beneath her breath. “I wonder if Clara’s after his money. Do you think they’re _together?_ I don’t approve.” Dave, Clara's father, shot her a look of warning. “You hardly ever approve of _anything,_ Linda,” he scolded her softly, beneath his breath but loud enough for her ears. Then, as surprising as could be, he rose to shake Ronald's hand. 

"Ronald," he said with a laugh. "God but it's been a long time. I haven't seen you in ages. I heard about your mother. Sorry to hear it. How’ve you been doing, mate?"

Popping her head into the living room from the kitchen, Clara watched in shock. Mortified now, she realized _— somehow, in some way_ — they knew each other. They’d never shared their last names. It made sense that all of this was a surprise for everyone. But at least no one had questioned why he was over. She wasn’t ready to try and _explain_ to everyone. It was a complicated situation. 

"It's been ages," Ronald replied with a surprised laugh. "It's good to see you, Dave. And thank you… She was very sick. It happened so quickly. I had moved back home, just to take care of her. Now the flat's mine, since she passed away."

Dave gave Ronald's arm a supportive squeeze. "It's never easy losing anyone." He knew better than most. Clara's mother had been taken from them at far too young an age. Linda seemed to bristle at that, hating any mention of the woman at all. 

"C'mon," Dave said, "I'll get you a drink. Everything's in the kitchen."

Clara's eyes were as wide as saucers when they came strolling in together. “You two know each other?” she asked, a bit squeakier than expected. 

Her father laughed a bit, saying, “Yeah, we do. We used to work together at the factory, for years. He knew your mother too, Clara. He’s a good man.”

That warmed her heart. How on earth had they managed to come to know one another? What were the chances of that? She had so many things that she wanted to ask him now. About her mother, about her father, about _everything._

“You’re right. He is a good man,” she said softly, eyes shining a bit as she looked up at Ronald. Dave was mixing him a vodka tonic so he mercifully missed the expression on her face. “I’m very fond of him.” 

Clara’s nan, well, she saw more than most. Later on in the evening, after dinner had been eaten and everything was delicious and had gone well, much to Clara’s surprise because she could barely cook at all, her nan slipped into the kitchen to help her with dessert. 

“You like him a lot, don’t you?” Ellen asked casually, casting a look her granddaughter’s way as she cut the pie in front of her into perfect little pieces. 

Freezing, trying to play it off as nothing, Clara said, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Ellen tapped her nose, then laughed softly. “I have eyes, darling. A grandmother always knows. Your father might not see it, but I do. You do like him, don’t you? I think he might be just a tiny bit in love with you. I like the way he looks at you, like you’re the only girl that matters to him. Who cares about age differences these days, eh? Your grandfather was much older than me, and we made it work.”

At the mention of her grandfather, Clara softened a great deal. She laughed nervously and rubbed the back of her neck. Her nan continued, “I miss him, you know. Every day. And what I wouldn’t give just to have a little bit of that time back. I know you loved Danny, and I know you two just weren’t right for each other. But Ronald’s here, and I think he loves you, and I’m fairly certain you have a tiny bit of a crush on him too. Don’t waste that chance.”

Before Clara could help herself, because she could _never_ lie to her nan, she blurted out, “We’ve kissed, nan. It’s not like I don’t know how he feels.” 

Her nan let out a soft laugh in surprise, placing each slice of pie onto a plate and casting a look Clara’s way. “Have you? Well, that explains it, then. You’ve been glowing all night since he arrived. Despite that ugly Christmas sweater he’s wearing, I think he might just be _exactly_ what you need.” 

Clara laughed. “No, nan, that’s just how all of his jumpers are, believe me. I find it kind of sweet, though. You should see his _house robe._ I’ve caught him a few times coming outside for the bins. It’s got polka dots all over it. Good god, it makes my eyes hurt, but it’s sort of adorable.” 

The two shared a little laugh before eventually joining the others out in the living room area again. There was Christmas music playing and Dave and Ronald were chatting about the old days. Linda looked positively, _absolutely_ miserable, which gave Clara a wee niggle of joy, as ashamed as she was for it thereafter.

By the time the night was over, all too soon in Clara’s opinion, and she’d said goodbye to her father and nan, she was ready to collapse. The exhaustion hit her all at once. 

“You need to get to bed,” Ronald teased, watching Clara as she slumped against the sink. “But first you have to open my gift for you.”

She hummed in response, knowing that he was probably right. He usually was. “Okay, okay. There’s a gift for you too, you know. It’s under my tree.” 

He looked a bit surprised by that. And _touched._

Ten minutes later, after tidying up, they were sat beside one another on the sofa. She was opening her package, gasping softly when she finally got to it beneath the wrapping paper. It was a signed copy of Jane Austen’s _Emma,_ in perfect condition _._ She was completely awed and her face said it all. She couldn’t even speak. 

“Ronald,” she began. “You didn’t…”

The look on her face said it all. He leaned down to press his lips to her hair, murmuring, “I’m glad you like it. I knew you would. Found that gem in the bookshop last month. I set it aside, just for you. It was worth every penny.”

She gave him a soft look, positively _touched_ that he seemed to know all the little details about her. He listened. He paid attention. Most men couldn’t give a toss about that sort of thing. 

“Go on,” she said. “Now you open yours.”

His own bag, as he discovered, had a few different things in it. First off, there were seasoned salts to try cooking with. There were colorful, curious spices as well. He was ecstatic. And then, lastly, there were small packages of exotic seeds for herbs and fruit plants for him to try out. He was, he’d happily say, in heaven.

They were quiet for a little while, admiring the lights and ornaments on her Christmas tree. It was comfortable, companionable. It felt so nice to finally just _relax._

“I want to ask you practically everything under the sun about my mum,” she eventually said, popping an eye open and glancing over towards him. He looked a bit sheepish. 

Suddenly, he said, “Your mother was one of the kindest women I’ve ever known. And when my father passed away, your parents were there for me all the way. I remember… I remember your mother used to bake soufflés a lot and give them out around Christmas time. Believe me when I say that you’re _very much_ like her. Just like her, in fact. You have a big heart, Clara Oswald.” 

Clara allowed herself a deep, steadying breath, willing away the tears that were suddenly in her eyes. Without hesitation, Ronald came over and drew her into his arms. Her head came to rest on his chest and he thought he heard a sniffle or two.

“I mean every word,” he said with a wee smile. “Merry Christmas, Clara. Thank you for everything today. Your mother would be so proud of you.”


End file.
